


longing for shelter from all that we see

by quakenbake (raccoontitties)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:57:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoontitties/pseuds/quakenbake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is what it is. They’re lonely, but they’re not alone. They have each other and they want each other. Who says that’s not enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	longing for shelter from all that we see

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: 4x14 'I Do'  
> A/N: Note the pairings. This is not straight up Quinn/Santana. I wrote this for three reasons. 1. Semi fix-it: if the idea in I Do was of lonely friends finding comfort in each other, there is no way that Tina should not have been included. 2. [this.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/fb4bfca877cee11b48c594c8de556aac/tumblr_mi8xnsOq5m1qjr3vco2_250.gif) 3\. I just have about a million feelings about these three together.
> 
> Many, many thanks to Sandy. The hand holding went to new extremes with this one. Thanks for dealing with me and my neediness.

Getting left at the altar must suck. Tina can relate. Mr. Schue isn’t the only person who got stood up today. OK, so Blaine ditching her isn’t the same, but it still hurts seeing him hang all over the ex boyfriend he hasn’t spoken to for weeks. She has accepted, now, that Kurt could move to Australia and Blaine would be just as unlikely to see what’s right in front of his face. But it takes like zero time for Blaine to forget  _he_  asked  _her_  to this trainwreck. And well, that fucking smarts.

She understands why Mr. Schue runs home to lick his wounds, but that’s something  _she_  refuses to leave a great party because a  _boy_ hurt her feelings. For one, the food and decorations are fabulous. Ms. Pillsbury’s parents keep hounding her about effective dry-cleaning methods, but at least they’re not cheap. Puck saves the reception for her.  She doesn't know why he brought a flask to an open bar, but her drinks remain heavily spiked and it’s lovely.

Catching up with Mercedes and Quinn also helps counteract the trauma of flying solo when everyone else pairs off. They understand her, and they have fakes so they are more than willing to rant with her.

“Tina,” Quinn says, leaning across the cocktail table and placing a hand on her forearm, “As someone who spent two and a half years chasing after a stupid boy who didn't really want me, I can promise one day you'll look back on this as a learning experience.“  She has achieved a Zen-like tranquility along with a newfound disregard for personal space.

Mercedes nods along, halfway into her fourth glass of wine. “Mhmm. I took a page out of Rachel’s book and wrote a song about my devastating crush on Kurt. Girl, let me tell you, It’s serious Grammy material.”

“Thanks, guys. But it's not that. It's not  _only_ that. I know accepting my fabulousness means I shouldn't care, but I just forgot how crappy it feels to be alone on Valentine’s Day.

“Come on. I'll get you a real drink.” Quinn slips an arm around Tina’s waist and steers them towards the bar. A cloud perfume settles over her. It’s classy and demure but with a slight edge, like Quinn. “You need to stop this. For one, you're way too classy to keep chugging whatever Puck snuck in. And two, what sad about a night out drinking with the girls.”

At the bar, Santana chats with a female bartender who leans far over the counter under the pretense of hearing over the background noise. Tina wonders if she has ever met a person who doesn’t want her.

When Tina takes a seat beside her, Santana clinks their glasses together and bobs her head, "Sup, Girl-Chang", before going back to mixing some new concoction.

Tina manages to stay civil, which proves simple. Santana’s constant cynicism suits her current disenchantment and when she’s not stealing roles or boyfriends, she’s great. If you can deal with her. Once Tina stopped faking a stutter and sharpened her ‘righteous blade of equality’, they got along just fine. With the steady supply of alcohol available, they continue to do so.

It’s not until the reception goes from party to date-y, that Tina regrets not driving straight home from the church.

The shouting match with Kurt is silly and she knows it. She’s not still hung up on Blaine. She's  _not_.

But it's not fair.

Finn dumped Rachel on their wedding day. Rachel is screwing a male model or something in New York. Blaine cheated on Kurt and Kurt never calls. She and Mike were perfect by comparison. If anyone should be dancing like it’s V-day circa 2012, it’s  _them_ , but somehow they can barely maintain eye contact. It stinks.

“Hey.” It’s Mike. For some reason, she recognizes his cologne first.

“Hi, Mike.”

“You know.” he says, “I've danced with everyone here. Even Coach Sylvester”

She waits for him to work out whatever he  _really_  wants to say.

“Everyone except you.”

He offers his hand, and it’s just like old times. The songs get slower and one dance becomes five. For a pivotal moment, they both consider heading upstairs. It hangs between them, a mess of jumbled feelings and confusion. He still wants her and she’ll never  _not_  want him. It’s tempting to let  _tonight_  just happen. But while hooking up with exes may be the theme of the night, it’s not for them.

Mike deserves better. She deserves better.

They share a final dance and a kiss. It’s less an invitation and more an acknowledgement that what they’d like to do isn’t what they should do. He holds her close and rests his chin on the top of her head, and she’s never been more grateful that Mike, even if only for a little while, was hers.

“We should talk. Soon, maybe.”

“Yeah” she says, rubbing her face against his crisp shirt and enjoying the familiarity of it.

“But not right now.”

“Yeah. Not right now.”

He leaves to pack for his morning flight, and Tina goes back to sit at the bar and sip a drink that’s almost as bitter as she is.

****

When she bought her ticket, Quinn pictured this weekend going differently, something other than a horrible rom-com spectacle ending with Mr. Schue standing in front of a priest with Coach Sylvester. Somehow the reception turns out even more bizarre, and that’s not even taking into account the open bar. Honestly though, ruined weddings, scandals, and drunken shenanigans are par for the course if you are or have ever been a member of the McKinley High New Directions. The events of the day don’t surprise her.

It’s having two fingers deep inside her best friend that causes Quinn to reevaluate what’s led her here.

The entire night, she stayed glued to Santana’s hip under the pretense of giving her a buffer. Technically, it's true. Seriously, the smiles and drunken flirting with the waitstaff fooled exactly no one. The way Santana scrupulously avoided all but the most cursory contact with Brittany was reason enough to stay close. But that’s a cop out, and if she’s learned anything from Santana’s backhanded barbs, cop-outs and evasions are sort of her trademark. So to herself and only in this moment, she admits that was exactly where she wanted to be.

On the dance floor, swaying with Santana tucked against her felt right. She didn’t have to deal with hands too tentative to hold her as close (Sam), having to practically jump every time she wanted to add to a conversation (Finn), an erection (Puck), or anyone stepping on her toes. (All of the above) Quinn especially liked the way Santana clung to her like a life raft. It was surprisingly comfortable and for once, everything between them was easy.

So easy, that Quinn barely hesitates in squeezing Santana’s hip and flashing a mischievous smirk when she jerks back, startled. It’s fun at first, teasing Santana with lingering glances and soft touches, like long-awaited payback for all those pregnancy jokes. Somewhere after her fourth drink and Santana’s sixth, she realizes this isn’t just a game she’s playing. Or if it is a game, she plans to see it into overtime.

The melodrama that was the first seventeen years of her life taught Quinn that it’s OK not to want the things she's supposed to want; the perfect husband, an uninspiring but stable career --though she’ll cop to still dreaming about the picket fence. It's also fine to enjoy things that her parents claimed she shouldn’t, like carbohydrates, sex and consequently, Santana.

“I have a room,” she says, ignoring the little voice that tells her exactly how not classy she’s being.

“Are you serious right now?”

The utterly dumbstruck look on Santana’s face is priceless, like she thinks Quinn is just messing with her. Santana fumbles for an appropriate response, clearly not prepared for a change in their usual routine of her ribbing Quinn until she either gets mad and leaves or smiles and hits even further below the belt. How the tables have turned.

“Serious as a heart attack. I refuse to be the only one who leaves here ... unsatisfied. It's too much like high school.”

Apparently that’s exactly the right thing to say. Santana cracks up laughing --at her, not with her -- and lets Quinn drag her towards the elevators.

****

The reception lasts well into the night. Tina slumps against a giggling Mercedes and laughs at Sam’s dance floor antics. He waves both of them over to join and she’s letting him lead her in one of his terribly executed dances that even dating Brittany can’t fix. Sam spins her out and she spots Kurt sneaking back in. The sight of his disheveled hair and wrinkled suit shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

She can’t even look at Kurt right now. Kurt who has a boy in New York and a boy in Lima and won’t commit to either of them.  Not when that’s all Tina wants. Sam’s goofiness is no longer enough of a distraction. She needs to get out of here before Kurt comes over and tries to pretend they don’t all know what just happened upstairs.

Too bad it’s going to be a while before she can actually go anywhere. All that underage drinking seems like a crap move now.

It would be nice to talk to someone. Not Mercedes; she can’t string two words together without cackling. Not Mike because he’s probably asleep and she can't talk to  _him_  about Blaine.  Certainly not to Blaine because even though she could talk to him about Mike, there are other reasons why she needs to stay far, far away.

She settles on Quinn.

****

Quinn’s feelings about Santana are complicated, but she’s long past blatantly disregarding the truth. It galls her, the phantom twinges she gets on campus that remind her she’s missing that solid presence at her back. No matter how hard it is to be with Santana, it’s harder to be  _without_  her and that means something. It’s only fitting they finally try the whole ‘interacting with each other’ thing’ differently.

Differently means this time when she pulls Santana’s hair, it’s to press their mouths together. When Santana scratches, it’s to run her nails roughly up Quinn’s thighs to yank her panties off. And when they growl at each other, it’s a different kind of aggression altogether.

Santana writhes beneath her now, but it won’t last. She takes satisfaction from Santana’s unintelligible pleas and the way her back bows when Quinn licks down her chest. The hand not frantically gripping the sheets tangles in her hair and Quinn smiles around a taut nipple even though she’s being tugged a bit too hard. This may be her first time with a woman, but Quinn knows what  _she_  likes and she quickly learned Santana’s tells. That little hitch of breath means  _harder_. The sting of fingernails digging into her shoulder demands  _more_. She gives both.

Being inside of Santana intoxicates her. She’s wet, amazingly so, but also warm and slick. Her body tightens around Quinn’s fingers and it feels so good that she almost doesn’t want to pull out to thrust back in. It doesn’t take Santana long to fall apart; Quinn chalks it up to the way they’ve been dancing around each other all night. She comes with a whimper that sends a flood of affection coursing through Quinn. A gentle kiss deepens when Santana holds her in place and sets a powerful rhythm with her tongue that Quinn literally can’t wait for her to use a little lower.

This is probably the longest they’ve ever gone without an unkind word or a slap. With Lima and high school and all the bad blood behind them, they have a chance to be the friends they always should have been. Not that the way Santana moans into her mouth is particularly ‘friendly’.

It is what it is. They’re lonely, but they’re not alone. They have each other and they want each other. Who says that’s not enough?

Santana chooses that moment to flip them, and neither bothers to acknowledge that this is about to become a three-time thing.

****

Tina’s knock goes unanswered. The door is ajar, which is totally unsafe, and she hears giggling on the other side so thinks nothing of opening the door and stepping inside. Later she’ll think she should have knocked harder.

Quinn lays naked with Santana’s face between her legs, writhing and pushing herself harder against the mouth working against her.

Tina freezes, It’s wrong to watch, but it’s so hot and she’s not ashamed to admit that it turned her on. Maybe it's the crush she’s had on Quinn since she showed up after summer break last year with pink hair and a bad attitude. Maybe it's the way Santana is, well, Santana.  She knows she should turn and leave them too it, but her feet aren’t cooperating.

Quinn lets out a string of profanity so foul that Tina’s mouth drops, as does the phone in her hand. Unfortunately, the dull thud draws the attention of the two girls on the bed.

“Oh my God” Quinn hurriedly yanks the comforter over her body, trapping Santana beneath it.

“What the fuck, Quinn?”  Santana untangles herself, narrowly avoiding falling ass first onto the floor. “Asphyxiation is not an acceptable reward for giving you multiple orgas- _oh_.”

They’re both looking at her now, Quinn with wide eyes and Santana with an inscrutable expression. She needs to give them some kind of explanation. Like…now.

“I c-came to see Quinn. I w-w-wanted t-o talk about-” of course she starts stuttering worse than she did when it was on purpose. What did she even want to talk about? Oh right.  _Boys._  She wanted to talk about boys, a topic relevant to zero percent of what’s going on in this room.

She’s happy for Santana and Quinn and whatever this is. But now her night is just crazy depressing. She's tired of going solo. Of still feeling like that girl who dressed like a vampire because that was the only way people would notice her at all.

She doesn't realize she's crying until Quinn wraps herself in a sheet and cautiously approaches her. The door shuts with a click and Quinn turns and hugs her. It must be the alcohol but it’s not at all awkward sobbing into Quinn’s bare shoulder.

“Shh. It’ll be ok.”

“Yeah. Eventually you’ll stop pinning your happiness on whether or not there is a pretty enough boy willing to slip you the D.”

“Don’t.” Quinn glares at Santana, who ignores her.

“Why? It’s tough love. This mopey crap is killing my lady boner"

“Can you just stop?” Tina says. This can't be happening. She can't be getting life advice from a college dropout who’s squatting on Rachel Berry’s couch.

“Sure. When you stop going on and on about how your high school boyfriend is your soul mate and you’re meant to be together forever because that shit is so obviously not true. Get real.”

This attitude isn't really about her, but Tina’s wounds are too raw for her to worry about Santana’s.

“Santana, You can call me a fool. I can own up to that, but at least I  _tried_  with Mike. And for whatever it’s worth I really  _really_  tried with Blaine.”

Santana scoffs and Tina can’t stop herself from taking the kill shot.

“But you, you’re a quitter. You run as soon as things get hard. You’ve already quit cheerleading and singing. I guess we can add college and Brittany to that list, too.

She doesn't need Quinn's sharp gasp to tell her she’s on thin ice. The stricken look on Santana’s face is enough. But you know what? She doesn’t give a damn.

“So why don't you quit being such a bitch and shut up.”

“Make me.”

Tina doesn't like confrontation, but she's been angry all night and generally pissed for months. It’s irrational focus her rage on Santana, she has always been what Tina isn't and had what Tina doesn't. And she's still naked and Tina would never just walk around like that and then she’s even madder, but there’s something else there too and before she can stop it, she’s shutting Santana up with her mouth and roughly shoving her tongue between her lips.

She expects Santana to hit her or say something hurtful. Instead, she tilts her head and breaks into the feline grin she wore in high school when she’d just found out a secret and was plotting ways to use it to her advantage.

“I’m s-sorry.” Tina stammers. “I shouldn’t have said that.”  She probably shouldn't have kissed her either.

“It’s fine. I deserved it. Come here.” Santana opens her arms and glares until Tina steps into them.

 _This_  hug is awkward, but Tina doesn’t care because Santana’s skin is soft and she’s no longer making Tina want to stab her in the face. A lot of people would say Santana has gotten soft lately. Tina would just say she’s finally embracing her biggest strengths.

A small chuckle rumbles through Santana’s chest.

“Someone’s been holding out on me. What do you say Q? Feel like checking off another box on your rainbow exploration checklist?”

_Huh?_

“If Tina actually wants to. That’s fine with me.”

_What?_

Santana leans back and peers down at her, searching.

“If you don’t want to go home or deal with…stuff. You could stay here.”

_Holy shit._

Tina can’t manage to get words out of her mouth or stop staring. It’s dead silent for at least forty seconds before Santana huffs impatiently and tips her chin up to make eye contact.

“This is a limited time offer. Piss or get off the pot.”

Quinn is softer. “No pressure, Tina.”

She can go back downstairs and watch everyone file back in, already regretting their decisions or she can do this. It’s not a hard choice. When Santana steps back just a little, Tina follows.

****

Quinn has had suspicions about Tina for a while. So it’s like a double win to be right and see Santana pinned against the wall by a girl who spoke maybe ten words the entirety of freshman year. They somehow get Tina’s dress unzipped and down around her waist before she gets impatient and shoves her tongue back down Santana’s throat.

Tina lifts a tan leg over her hip and Santana curses before digging her nails into Tina’s back and pressing sharply up with her own knee. It’s surreal to watch them rock against each other. Luckily the angle is such that Quinn can see every tug, scratch and bite.

Quinn maybe not be experienced, but Santana definitely got off. That, however, is completely different from the way she’s currently being  _taken_  against the wall of a hotel room. It probably says questionable things about Quinn that this power struggle is possibly the best part of her night so far.

They come within seconds of each other and Tina slumps forward with a heavy sigh. Santana leans back into the wall, resting her damp forehead on Tina’s shoulder.

“Top bitch, huh?” Tina taunts, leaning further into Santana to prop her up. Quinn had no idea quiet, shy Tina could ever sound that smug but Santana is practically purring against her neck so she deserves it.

Quinn would bet that comment just slipped out, because Tina stiffens like she expects Santana to react badly. Instead, she just calls her a name, bites down hard on her neck, and the three of them burst out laughing.

Tina removes the rest of her clothes and her lacy black lingerie while Santana perches on the side of the bed and pulls herself together. It’s quiet until Tina turns around with something black dangling from her hand.

“Why do you have this?”

Santana curses at the same time Quinn realizes what it is.

“Oh, Santana” she starts softly, not sure how much she can say in front of Tina. “Please tell me you didn't bring that because you were hoping something would happen with Brittany.”

“What? No. Come on, it's a wedding with an open bar. I figured Ms. P would have relatives that look more like her and less like orangutans. Just wanted to be prepared and all that.” Only Santana could make the Girl Scout seem  _that_ gay.  “But you know what happens when you assume.”

“Santana.” Quinn continues, demanding the truth. She has to know if she needs to talk some sense into her or maybe get another drink.

Santana looks her dead in the eye. “I  _promise_  I didn’t bring it for Brittany. I’m not going to try to get her to cheat on Sam. Been there, done that. Got the fucking t-shirt.”

The three of them sit uncomfortably in the dim light. Tina reaches further into the bag and pulls out the dildo that must go into the harness. She’s untangling it as she walks towards the bed. Santana watches her with curious eyes and a small furrow between her brows.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t you tell? I’m putting it on.”

“Not a chance, Kimchi. It’s mine. Meaning  _I_  get to bone  _you_  with it. “

“Let me wear it.”

“Do you even know what to do with it?”

“I managed to do  _you_  well enough about five minutes ago.”

It’s only deep and abiding loyalty to Santana that allows Quinn to keep a straight face.

“You owe me.”  Tina continues when Santana refuses to let go of the harness.  “For Grease and also for every Asian joke you’ve ever made our entire lives.”

“Look  _Tina_ , I’ll admit that I’m vaguely sorry I ruined your chance at high school mediocrity by overshadowing you with my much, much brighter star. But, I don't care if I pull a Sue and hijack your goddamn wedding; you're not fucking me with my own dick.”

“Please Santana, I don’t  _want_ to fuck you. I want to make love to Quinn.”

_Oh. Well._

Loyalty  _obviously_  doesn’t matter to Santana because she’s laughing her ass off.

“I don’t know, Quinn's ‘not that into that.’” She actually uses air quotes as she says it, shit-eating grin firmly in place. 

It was only a matter of time before Santana threw Quinn’s words back in her face, but clearly she has no qualms about Tina not only eagerly agreeing to join them but also knowing the mechanics of strap-on lesbian sex.

Is Quinn the only one in Lima without a lurid sex history?

Either way, two sets of eyes are asking her the same question. Santana looks decidedly put out; Tina just looks excited and hopeful. They both look adorable.

****

An hour ago Tina was crying over Mike and Blaine and potentially being alone forever.  Now she's arguing over a fake penis with Santana Lopez. It’s hard to tell what offends Santana more, that she might have to share her toy or that she might have to share Quinn. The standoff continues until Quinn pipes up from behind them.

“Why not?” she purrs, sliding her arms around Santana  “It sounds fun.”

“Oh.” Santana’s frown deepens, but Quinn whispers something to convince her to drop the harness.

She doesn’t seem capable of words. But who would be with a sexily rumpled Quinn Fabray cuddled against her, fingers trailing up and down her stomach.  Tina can see how much those barely there touches affect Santana; the teasing drives her crazy and Quinn knows it. She reaches back in a feeble attempt to pull her closer. Quinn opens her mouth and licks up the side of Santana's neck. She hovers with her mouth just next to Santana’s ear, lightly playing with her nipples.

"Why don't you help her put it on?"

Is this really Quinn Fabray? Better question: is really Santana Lopez? She just obediently follows Quinn’s direction and holds the straps open for Tina to step in and pulls them secure before rising from the bed. Tina thinks she’s leaning in for a kiss, but instead she shifts to murmur something Quinn won’t hear.

“Be gentle.”

She doesn't need to be told, but it’s sweet Santana cares. Tina pats her cheek and smiles.

“I know.”

****

Quinn isn't nearly as drunk as when they first came back to the room, if she’s even still drunk at all. Watching Tina and Santana against the wall did something to her and since 2013 is the year of Quinn Fabray not caring and doing whatever she pleases, it makes sense to scoot backward and spread her legs enough for Tina to settle between them. The way Tina kisses her is nothing like the way she kissed Santana. It’s soft and gentle and she can't help but compare them. Tina sips at Quinn's lips with just a hint of tongue and no rush. She’s not insistent but coaxing, like she’s afraid despite what's already happened, Quinn might panic and run away.

She wont.

She sends the message by teasing her tongue along Tina’s lips. She swallows the resulting gasp with a smile and lies back when Tina nudges her back against the pillows. Again she feels guilty for comparing the two girls. Is that wrong? What exactly is the etiquette for threesomes?

Unlike Santana, who blankets Quinn with her body and attempts to touch her everywhere at once, Tina holds herself up, the only points of contact in the brush of her breasts and the unfamiliar length of the dildo resting against Quinn’s thigh. She doesn't even know how long they stay that way, but Tina acts like she plans to stay there kissing her forever.

Which wouldn't be bad at all, but Quinn wants more right now.

She cants her hips up and runs her nails roughly down Tina's arms. It worked wonders on Santana and is one thing that’s the same.  Tina's finally slides her tongue hard Quinn’s and moves a hand down to stroke firmly between her legs gently grazing her clit, before sliding her fingers lower. One finger at first, slowly then two until Quinn hears herself begging for more.

Tina smiles at her fondly, eyes full of an innate kindness, and Quinn knows why she so readily agreed to this. She groans when Tina's fingers press forcefully into her one final time gathering some of her moisture. She holds her hand over Quinn’s lips and watches as she tastes herself.

Just to her right is a quiet  _fuck_.

Tina grabs Santana’s neck and brings their lips together, licking into her mouth. Santana latches on and it's only a firm pinch to Tina's thigh that reminds them Quinn is still waiting. Santana leans down and scrapes her teeth over Quinn's collarbone.

"Don't worry, princess. No one forgot about you."

It’s funny how she can be this intimate with Santana and still want to smack her about fifty percent of the time, but right then Tina enters her with the strap-on and that quickly becomes all that matters.

Tina rocks her hips smoothly. The motion causes her breasts to bounce and Quinn stretches to take one into her mouth. Santana has the same idea because her hand toys with the other until Quinn brushes her aside to pay attention there as well.

“This feels really good.” The words fall out unceremoniously, but Tina’s wide grin smoothes over the embarrassment.

The sensation of Tina thrusting inside of her is amazing. She finds an angle that drives Quinn closer and closer to the edge with every movement. When it’s almost too much, she slows and leans over her, resting her chest against Quinn’s. It’s the most skin-to-skin contact they’ve had all night.  She kisses Quinn and whispers soft words that bring tears to her eyes.

“You’re so perfect, Quinn. I can’t believe I get to see you like this.” It's nothing like the dirty things Santana growled into her ear, but it makes her come apart just the same.

She doesn't know who made her feel better tonight, Santana and her hot, overwhelming passion or Tina with her steady sweetness. She does know that after Tina pulls out and works with Santana to free herself from the harness, the way they both settle against her is the best thing she's experienced in a while.

It’s beautiful. They’re beautiful together.

****

Tina stays in bed until the chill of drying sweat becomes too much to ignore. Santana is outright shivering and huddling into Quinn’s warmth even in her sleep, lips pressed against her shoulder and a leg thrown over her hip. Quinn is covered with goose bumps despite the way Santana has wrapped around her like a starfish. A tangle of dark hair veils the bottom half of her face and it's cuter than she ever thought something relating to these two would be.

From the way they fit, Tina decides they look good together. She sighs, knowing nothing much has changed. One night with Quinn and Santana is the same as the month she ‘had’ with Blaine, though with considerably more orgasms. She doesn't fit into what they have. All she gets is borrowed time.

She puts her underwear back on and slings her dress over her arm before gathering up the comforter they kicked to the floor sometime between the second and third times she made Quinn scream her name. Spreading it over the other two girls, she turns to leave and is pulled up short. The hand around her wrist belongs to Quinn, but the voice is Santana's

“Where are you going?”

Dark, sleepy eyes squint up at her from where Santana’s chin rests on a pale shoulder. She uses the arm slung over Quinn’s waist to pat the empty spot in front of her.

Quinn and Santana look so relaxed; content in a way Tina never saw them in high school. And they want her to stay.

She doesn’t know that exactly is being offered in Quinn’s loose grip and Santana’s raspy croak. But who is she kidding? She wants it.

Dropping her clothes, she slides back into the bed.  Quinn scoots closer to her and Santana follows, tangling her fingers with Tina’s in the space between them. Quinn tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and pecks her on the forehead before settling back against the pillows.

Santana falls asleep first, quickly erupting in soft snores. The last thing Tina sees is Quinn’s smile before dozing off as well. 


End file.
